at this tower of babel everyone speaks the same language

so he saw the tower in a city i remember as agreen parkbench, exploding white stars of seagulls’s droppings and a big brownriver slugging its way through the green green grass shining from thesun like a lazy, mythically-sized snake.

and i saw it in a ruko complex overcrowded with shiatsu massageparlours, korean corner stores and an angry girlfriend.

but i don’t care about the now.

i guess he never got his feet on the ground because his legsare helicopter’s propellers.

and even though kiarostami speaks exclusively in parsi we understandeverything, unlike, you know, in that tower.

did she undertstand lights without sounds?

could she have dreams of a mute joe pernice?

i guess she could if she’s seen joe in cabo wabo.

could she count the syllabic length of a breakneckspeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeed

breakneckspeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeed

?

could she work out the stressed and unstressed syllables ina feet?

i like his language

it’s got that slinkiness

born out of just hanging out, kicking back

with friends who speak the same language as you.

maybe even a girl-

friend.

i will never have that anymore.

so i rely on my split copy of the cantos

fixing my stares just above the broken white of bowdlerizedsubtitles

and a heart nowhere near as big as phar lap.

they keep a carbon copy of his body in a room just down thestreet from where he lives